Twelve nautical miles away, the bridge of the "Zhenyuan" shook like a huge cast-iron honeycomb.
Shen Cang's fingers slid across the brass pressure dial, feeling the subtle vibrations of the pointer. The dial glass reflects his thin face - he is thirty years old, with sunken eye sockets, and his skin has a light patina from the steam that has been overflowing from the boiler room all year round. He was wearing a fourth-grade military attaché robe, but he wore a heat-resistant leather apron, which was stained with engine oil and soot.
"Left rudder three, maintain the array." His voice was not loud, but it was as clear as a rivet hammering into a steel plate. "The pressure is maintained at two hundred and twenty pounds."
"Got the order!" The ordering soldier shouted at the copper pipe.
On the other side of the bridge, deputy commander Zheng Kui clung to the guardrail, his knuckles turning white. This forty-year-old naval veteran was wearing an old-style battle jacket that had been washed white, and was incompatible with the precise instruments and flashing copper pipes in the bridge.
"Master Shen." Zheng Kui's voice was like a rusty knife being sharpened, "The enemy ship has entered the field of view. According to the "Naval Battle Minutes", the sails should be fully hoisted at this time to seize the windward position - "
"No need today." Shen Cang interrupted him without even turning around, "The steam engine has the final say."
